Between the Adventures4
by The Inner Genie
Summary: The continuing non-adventures of our Explorers - vignettes


BETWEEN THE ADVENTURES 4  
  
Well, they can't have adventures EVERY day!  
  
Disclaimer: NO money was made. NO copyright infringements intended. NO kidding.  
  
Vignettes By The Inner Genie  
  
***********************************  
  
EVOLUTION  
  
10/12/03  
  
"I believe you are mistaken," the dark-headed woman said so very politely.  
  
"I believe not," Lord Roxton countered equally as polite.  
  
"It doesn't matter what you believe, the facts are perfectly clear," she said politeness eroding.  
  
"And what facts are these, your High and Mightiness?" he asked bitingly.  
  
She raised her chin haughtily. "The fact that most women find men with full beards slovenly and unattractive."  
  
"I say!" protested Professor Challenger turning around in his easy chair to stare at the bickering couple.  
  
"Present company excepted," Marguerite said smiling at him with affection.  
  
"I should think so," he harrumphed turning back to his book.  
  
Still stewing over what Marguerite had said, his Lordship said accusingly, "You're just saying that to get me to shave it off."  
  
Marguerite shrugged. "I couldn't care less what you do."  
  
Roxton rubbed his stubble in satisfaction. "Fine, then. I'll keep it."  
  
Her bluff called, she burst out, "Fine! But don't expect me to ki."  
  
She broke off abruptly and folded her arms over her chest.  
  
Roxton smiled grimly. "Expect you to what, Marguerite? I'm sorry. I didn't quite get what you said. Did you say something about a kiss?"  
  
"Kiss! Don't flatter yourself. I was going to say that if you keep that growth, don't expect me to keep you company. I won't be seen going around with an incipient troglodyte." Her tone was scathing.  
  
Roxton raised an eyebrow and replied sardonically, "Oh, so that's what we've been doing, eh. Keeping company and going around together."  
  
"You know what we've been doing," she said through gritted teeth.  
  
The quizzical eyebrow descended and Roxton blinked his eyes as if coming out of a trance.  
  
"Indeed I do," he said, his voice softening.  
  
He lowered it still further so that only she could hear him. "So, we can keep on doing what we've been doing if I lose the beard?" he whispered, his breath warm on her cheek.  
  
She turned her head to look steadily into his soft, green eyes. "Yes," she breathed unsteadily.  
  
He returned her gaze for several heartbeats, and then, grinning foolishly, he straightened up and bellowed to the keeper of the blade, "Sharpen the razor, Malone. This troglodyte is about to evolve."  
  
*****  
  
By George! or Challenger Saves the Explorers, Again, Even Though He Isn't Aware of It  
  
10/4/03  
  
Profession George Edward Challenger sat back on the small, laboratory stool and smiled.  
  
"You've done it, again, my lad. Your genius is truly awesome."  
  
"Were you talking to me, Professor," asked young Finn looking up from the table where she was laboriously writing scientific observations.  
  
"No. No, Finn, just muttering to myself, I'm afraid."  
  
Finn leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. She stood up and wandered over to peer over his shoulder. "What's that stuff, Professor?" she asked curiously.  
  
He sighed. "Something that would make me rich if we were back in England, but here, I'm afraid, merely the tepid thanks of two head-strong woman."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind, Finn. You must excuse the grumblings of a frustrated old man."  
  
"You're not old, Professor," she stated loyally. "You just look that way 'cause your brain works twice as hard as other people's."  
  
He barked a laugh. "Thank you, Finn. You have a very refreshing point of view.  
  
"So---what'd you make for Marguerite and Vee?"  
  
Challenger held up the beaker to the light and shook it.  
  
"What I have here, my dear Finn, is smoothing-balm for the hair. Both of our fair ladies have curly, wavy hair and, so I'm told, brushing it out after washing is both painful and time consuming. Luckily for them, the local flora contains many plants that have the properties that I need to produce this ingenious solution to their problem."  
  
"You see," he started to lecture. "The lotion coats each strand of hair and smoothes over the tiny rough surfaces making the hairs slide easily against each other, thus minimizing the tangling."  
  
While he was talking, he was waving the beaker over a small flame.  
  
Finn abruptly interrupted, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Excuse me, Professor, but is it supposed to do that?"  
  
"Yes, indeed," the scientist nodded enthusiastically. Then he actually looked at the vial. The milky blue lotion was rapidly turning black. "Oh, my! That wasn't supposed to happen."  
  
"I think it's burning," Finn yelped as a small flame shot up out of the mouth of the vial.  
  
Reacting quickly, Challenger plunged the beaker into the bucket of water Veronica insisted he always have at the ready. The glass vial cracked open as it hit the cold water and its contents fell, sizzling, to the bottom of the tub.  
  
"Damn," the scientist muttered peering into the water.  
  
"That's all right, Professor," Finn said reassuringly. "You can always make another batch."  
  
"Indeed, I can," he murmured distractedly as he reached into the bucket and carefully lifted out the blackened mass.  
  
He hefted it from one hand to the other, sniffed it, and squeezed it gently. His fingers compressed the outside easily, confirming the liquid interior. He carried it carefully over and set it on the table. He stared transfixed at the charred lump.  
  
"Professor?" Finn said. She waited but got no response. Shrugging, she went back to her recording. She knew his mind was totally focused on this new mystery, so she wasn't offended.  
  
After a minute of intense study, the scientist made up his mind. He searched around the table top of a long, sharp object, and finding none to meet his specifications he reached out and ripped a long sliver of wood from the rough log wall. Holding it steadily over the blob, he inserted the wooden probe through the outer membrane and into the blob's interior. He moved the probe slowly around and then withdrew it. Viscous black syrup coated the tip of the splinter and a tiny, black drop oozed out of the hole, slowly solidified and turned clear.  
  
"What have we here?" he muttered.  
  
He set the coated sliver down on the table, picked up the mass, and examined the plug in the hole. It was hard, dry, and had completely sealed up the tiny opening. Keeping his eyes on the dark blob in his hand, he reached for the splinter to poke another hole. He made a small exclamation of annoyance when his fingers slipped off the sides of the thin wooden strip. He reached out again and pulled harder. The probe wouldn't budge.  
  
Intrigued, the scientist set the black bulb down, pulled out his penknife and wedged it under the uncoated end of the splinter. The blade slide effortlessly until it encountered the goo that coated the tip. The mysterious substance was now quite clear and extremely hard. He pushed the small blade against it with all his might. The tip of the knife snapped off.  
  
At the sharp sound, Finn head jerked up.  
  
"What was that?" she asked.  
  
"Something very interesting, my dear. Very interesting, indeed." Challenger stooped down until his eyes were level with the table and tried to look under the splinter of wood. It had bonded with the table quite seamlessly.  
  
Contemplatively, the red-bearded scientist lifted his head and stared, unseeing, at the far wall, his brilliant mind making lighting connections.  
  
"Could it be?" he asked the air. He blinked his eyes and looked towards the stairs leading up to the common area.  
  
"Could it be what, Professor?" asked Finn who didn't mind being the straight man for the scientific genius.  
  
"Time for a little empirical evidence," he answered, his eyes alight with curiosity.  
  
"VERONICA!" he bellowed up the stairs. "I need you, NOW! And bring that broken teacup."  
  
Footsteps clattered down the wooden steps as not only the owner of the treehouse, but also John Roxton and Marguerite Krux thundered down to see what catastrophe awaited below. They stopped near the bottom of the steps when they saw that everything appeared to be still intact. Veronica hurried to Challenger's side and held out a delicate, china teacup and its broken handle.  
  
"Wha---?" the blond beauty began, but the scientist shushed her.  
  
"Gather 'round and observe, my friends," he said and picked up the black bulb.  
  
Finn stood up from the table and hurried over. Marguerite and John came the rest of the way down the stairs curious to see what their scientist friend could do with a broken teacup and what appeared to be a large, black puffball.  
  
"Now, Veronica," he ordered. "Hold the teacup very still and I will attempt to reattach the handle using what I suspect will prove to be absolutely the most phenomenal adhesive ever invented."  
  
The others stepped closer as, like a stage magician, George Challenger displayed the tiny, hook-shaped piece of porcelain in one hand, and the black, round mass in the other hand.  
  
All eyes were riveted on the scientist as he held the blob over one end of the handle and squeezed.  
  
POP!  
  
The bulb exploded under the pressure and coal black, gooey liquid shot out in all directions, generously coating the faces and clothing of the spectators and scientist alike.  
  
"EWWW!" shrieked Veronica. She dropped the teacup in surprise and used one hand to wipe the black mess off of her creamy bosom.  
  
"Really, George," snapped Marguerite. Her lovely face was dotted with black spots.  
  
Roxton, his own face similarly spotted, laughed seeing her disgusted look. "I've always thought you'd look beautiful with freckles, Marguerite." He reached out his finger and touched the adorable polka dot on the tip of her nose.  
  
Angrily, the beautiful linguist slapped his arm.  
  
Challenger with a horrible premonition grabbed Roxton by the shoulder in a futile attempt to stop his arm as it snaked out to encircle the slim waist of the sputtering Marguerite.  
  
Finn, ignoring her own spottiness and seeing her mentor's red beard and mustache turn suddenly black, quickly grabbed the gooey hairs under his nose hoping to wipe off a big black glob before it dripped into Challenger's mouth. Veronica, thinking that the young girl was going to punch the scientist in the nose, reached out with her free hand and pulled back on Finn's sticky belt.  
  
For an instant, time froze-------and glue set.  
  
Challenger cleared his throat, which was not an easy feat with Finn's finger embedded in his moustache, and mumbled, "It was probably not a good idea to touch the mucilage."  
  
"Oh, you think?" Marguerite snarled, as she looked cross-eyed at Roxton's finger that was firmly attached to her nose.  
  
They all started shouting at once.  
  
--I can't---ugh!---get my hand---ouch!---off of my---chest! ARRG!  
  
--Take your shirt off, John, so I can peel it off my fingers.  
  
--Sorry, but both my hands are otherwise engaged--but don't let that stop you from trying.  
  
--You have really done it this time, Challenger!  
  
--It is amazing, isn't it!  
  
--Ow, ow, ow! Stop squirming, Roxton. You're hurting my nose!  
  
--Well, you're tickling me!  
  
--"I say, while I have you all together, what do you think of the name 'Professor Challenger's Super Mucilage'?"  
  
--Q@%!!***###!!  
  
--"That was rude, old boy. And in front of the ladies, too!"  
  
--OOF! Vee, stop pulling on my belt! I can't breath.  
  
--It's a good thing I can't reach my knife, Challenger!  
  
--I get him first, Blondie.  
  
--Please, everyone, stay calm. I'm sure that I can come up with a solvent if you'll all just give me a moment.  
  
--Take your time, George, we're not going anywhere.  
  
And on it went louder and louder and louder.  
  
The Explorers' rage against their sticky fate covered the sounds of intruders above. Footsteps whispered across the upper level floor. Moments later, three grotesquely painted faces peered over the railing at the writhing, shouting mass of humanity below. The cannibals' look of hungry anticipation quickly turned to grimaces of disappointment and disgust.  
  
The tallest native turned to the shortest. "I thought you said there would be good pickings up here, Lenny."  
  
The small cannibal hung his head. "I swear they didn't look like that when I saw them in the jungle."  
  
"Well, be that as it may, I'm not eating them," the medium-size cannibal declared. "You remember how sick we got the last time we cooked up questionable homo sapiens."  
  
The others touched their stomachs and grimaced.  
  
"You're right. It's not worth the risk. Let's go."  
  
Disappointed, but knowing they had made the wise decision, the trio left as silently as they had arrived.  
  
"Quiet!" the red-bearded scientist shouted above the hubbub. "Now," he said into the sudden, sullen silence, "I must get over to my laboratory equipment before I can start finding a remedy for our predicament."  
  
He stared at the others until he had their attention.  
  
"All right, then. On the count of three we all move together. One, two, three. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. That's the spirit!"  
  
*****  
  
A Little Heart  
  
11/16/03  
  
Lord Roxton leaned his tall form against one side of the door jam and carefully held back the curtain that served as a door to Marguerite Krux's bedchamber. A soft smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he watched the sleeping woman. Her dark, curly hair fanned out over the pillow and her usual ivory cheeks were stained pink from the fever that had broken only a short time ago. She slept comfortably, now, burrowing into the new, fragrant pillow.  
  
Earlier that afternoon, Roxton and their hostess Veronica Layton had sat on the treehouse balcony high above the dense jungle stuffing new pillow cases with the fluff from the alpaca plant. The storm that had drenched Marguerite had also ruined most of their bedding, and they were working quickly to replace what had been lost.  
  
Roxton was surprised to see the jungle beauty adding brightly colored flower petals to the pillow filling. Veronica had explained that the flower petals infused the pillow with a subtle fragrance that made the cushions all that more delightful to sleep on. A thoughtful touch that even Marguerite had commented on. The mention of his love's name got the hunter thinking about the dark-haired beauty who lay sick of a fever in her bed. The pillow he was stuffing was for her. When Veronica got up to fetch her sewing kit to close the top of the now plumb pillows, his mind continued to be occupied with thoughts of his Marguerite. Almost without thinking, he picked up a large, red, fragrant flower petal and using the scissors sitting on the small table, cut it into a heart shape. It wasn't a perfect heart by any means, but Roxton sighed with satisfaction as he held it up. He gently kissed his creation, and hearing Veronica's footsteps, quickly stuffed it deep into the pillow on his lap. When his hostess returned, he awkwardly sewed the opening closed. He carried it himself to Marguerite's bedchamber and placed it gently under her head.  
  
Now he stood watch in her doorway. The relief the other explorers had felt when her fever had finally broken had lightened the atmosphere in the treehouse. They had laughed and joked for the first time in days. Roxton had joined in the celebration, but he had known that she would recover. There was no doubt in his mind that fate had brought the two of them together and fate meant for them to be together for a very long time --he smiled ruefully-even if Marguerite wasn't convinced of this.  
  
Marguerite sighed and wrapped her arms around her new pillow.  
  
Raising one eyebrow, Roxton wondered what she would say if she knew what was buried deep inside of it.  
  
"That's right, my love," he whispered. "Rest your head against my heart. It belongs to no one but you." 


End file.
